don't wanna kill
by WolfletteMoon
Summary: My second Murtagh song-fic. Murtagh feels he is becoming like his father. The song is Don't wanna kill by magica. Rated T this time as it's less morbid and doesn't include suicidal thoughts. Still very dark.


**My second song-fic. Another Murtagh one; this time the song is 'Don't wanna kill' by Magica. I actually really enjoyed writing the first one, so I'm doing another. I'm finding Murtagh a challenging yet interesting character to portray. He is still as emo (and crazy) as ever. I still didn't manage to fit it to a SexPistols song…**

_It's getting dark again  
Everything's turning to gray  
_Murtagh watched the sun set through his window, his hand perched idly on top of a bottle of whiskey. 'Haven't you had enough to drink?' asked Thorn as his rider lifted the bottle to his lips. 'I'll decide when I've had enough.' He growled, taking a gulp then slamming the bottle down.

_You'd better find me a prison  
Until the break of day_

Thorn watched his rider finish off the bottle, then drop it out of the window, not caring whether anyone was below it or not. He pulled his sword from its sheath and began hacking at the wall. He had enough to be angry about, and the alcohol never made it any better. Something froze him in place, and Thorn turned around almost expecting to see Galbatorbix's sneering face, but it was clearly something in his own mind. _  
Cause it lives within the meat  
And coils around the heart  
It grows with every beat  
And tears my soul apart_

"I'm turning into my father." He whimpered as he said this. Stumbling back, he leaned against the wall, sliding down onto his knees. "I'm becoming just like him, Thorn. I don't want to be like him- I don't want to be a monster." He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. 'You are not like your father,' Thorn reassured him, 'you are not a monster.'

"Would all the people I've killed say that? All the people I've hurt? WOULD ANYONE BUT YOU?!"

'You do not want to kill people. You do not want to hurt people. It is your intentions that matter,' insisted the dragon.__

I don't wanna kill  
But I have this aching hunger  
That drives away my self control

"I don't want to kill them," Murtagh stated, "but I do. But I don't. But I do. But I don't. But I will. I will kill them! I kill them and I can't stop myself!" he was screeching by the end. 'Murtagh…' Thorn started, but didn't know what to say. He just let his rider rest his head on his knees and sob._  
I don't wanna kill  
But the pain grows deep inside me_

The dragon wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but if there was anything he could do he hadn't thought of it yet. He wanted nothing more than to take it all away; to make him happy- but that wasn't possible._  
Over and over  
Howling, bleeding, I want more._

'Murtagh, it's alright…' The feeble attempt at comfort didn't seem to warrant any sort of reaction. "I'm a terrible person," the man mutter, shaking and almost choking, he was sobbing so much. "I deserve to die."

'You do not. And you are not a bad person. You are unlucky. We both are. You just try to survive; there is nothing wrong with that.'__

Please lay me down to sleep  
With monkshood on my head

"Thorn…Help me…" The words came out between gasps. Convulsions shook his body. His lips trembled. His hands fell limply onto his knees. His hair fell over his face. Murtagh was but a shadow of his former self._  
Tie me to the ground  
Or chain me to the shed_

"Stop me…" He continued, "Don't let me turn into the same beast of a man that my father was. I don't want to be like that." The pleading quality in his voice broke Thorn's heart. 'If I ever think you are becoming like your father, which I do not, I will stop you.' He promised. He lowered his head so that it was on the floor besides his rider._  
Cause it lives within the meat  
And coils around the heart  
It grows with every beat_

Murtagh begged his mind not to drift back to the screams and muttered last words of the hundreds felled, but it did not listen. He could remember it all perfectly. Every person he had killed. Or hurt. The fear spread across their faces. The blood that seeped from various wounds. It was preserved in his mind as disgustingly perfect as the day he saw it._  
And tears my soul apart_

It was killing him.


End file.
